


Superman and Green Lantern Ain't Got Nothing On Me

by chewysugar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark fic, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Bites, M/M, Murder, Protective Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, hickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Dean isn't the hero of their lives, but he isn't the villain either.





	Superman and Green Lantern Ain't Got Nothing On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the song "Sunshine Superman" by Donovan. Incredible tune, but I've always found it slightly sinister.

Hard bright sunlight heats the roof of the Impala. The car flies down the Florida back road like a carrion bird made of steel, a cloud of choking dust in its wake. A pair of bare feet dangle out the open passenger’s side window. Humid air from the nearby Gulf rushes into the interior of a vehicle that formerly knew only lock, key and secrecy. Now it’s as free as the boys within.  
  
Sam sits curled in such a way that he can afford to have his feet out one side of the window. The slipstream lifts his shaggy bangs from his forehead, as if the breeze is curious to see whether there is a forehead beneath. Thusly satisfied, it departs, but returns for more, drawn by the carefree beauty in the shape of a seventeen year old boy. Though his eyes are fixed on the thick graphic novel in his hand, he’s aware of all around him—breeze, sunlight and the bald cypress trees on either side of this hidden byway of American road. Most of all he’s aware of the gaze of the body occupying the cracked leather seat of the driver’s side.  
  
Button up shirt open to let the warmth and breeze caress his bare skin, Dean switches between keeping his focus on the road and on his brother. Their eyes meet every so often, grinning sometimes shyly, other times in silent acquiescence of victory. They’re thick as thieves with the same honor code. Too many secrets have led them here--from their own boggy marshland of survival, where treachery and hurt lay around every corner, they are here--together.   
  
Dean's poison ivy-green eyes rake Sam up and down from behind a snazzy pair of sunglasses. His gaze lingers on Sam’s bare arms and legs. Brought to rosy blush by the brand of the sun, Sam’s skin also bears mementos of another kind of heat. A raw hickey marks his neck, just at the juncture where throat meets clavicle. Red as a black widow’s kiss, it’s a reminder of what they can now have. Lower down, love bites form a procession from the side of Sam’s feet; white as cocaine, they disappear under the hem of his shorts to places more intimate.  
  
A grin splits Dean’s face—the Big Bad Wolf smiling after devouring a not so innocent Little Red. Heat blazes in his gut. One hand on the wheel, he uses the other to adjust himself. There’s a time and a place for everything. Right now is about heat and open air and freedom.  
  
Sam flicks his gaze from the comic book to his brother, drawn as if by devastating gravity. The guile in those hazel eyes could kill a man unprepared for it.  
  
“Batman not interesting you anymore?”  
  
“It’s not Batman. It’s _Sandman_ , Dean.”  
  
“Batman, Superman, Sandman...making me kinda jealous with how much attention you pay them.”  
  
Sam smirks. Those eyes, dusky as a bottle of strychnine, catch the hard lump in Dean’s torn and faded jeans.  
  
“Whatever. They can’t do me like you. Can’t do the things you do for me either.”  
  
Dean licks his lips; he’s going to reward Sam that stroke of vanity once this is all over. It’s because Dean is better than Batman—better than any other superhero—that they’re here. It’s because Sam has believed in Dean above all other incredible men that Dean found the courage to save them both.  
  
Sam stretches and turns his gaze back to the comic book. “How long, do you figure?”  
  
“Just a few more clicks. We’re already technically in the swamps. Just need to be in the thick of it. Out where the gators are.”  
  
After that hidden part of the swamps, they’ll be off into the smoky yellow horizon—flying higher than Hawkman, faster than Spider-Man. But only after they make it to where the bogs are thickest.

Only after they get rid of the body in the trunk of the car—the body of the man who hit them one too many times, who belittled them and pushed them too far--the man who thought the hard, fast, frenetic love between them was abominable.

All good superhero stories start with the death of a parent. Dean thinks it's pretty outrageous that theirs starts with the murder of one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
